


Circles of Gold

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Childhood Friends, Destiel Reverse Bang 2019, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Illustrated, M/M, Minor Sarah Blake/Sam Winchester, Non-Explicit Sexual Content, Prince Castiel (Supernatural), Prince Dean Winchester, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 16:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19338337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: Seven years ago, Dean and Castiel chose each other over their families, their kingdoms, and their crowns. They have since come to terms with that decision, but the arrival of a messenger from Dean’s kingdom disturbs the peaceful life they’ve built together and forces them to make another choice, one that could have equally lasting consequences.





	Circles of Gold

**Author's Note:**

> When I first saw this art piece during claims, I told myself, “No, superhoney, you do not need to write another royalty AU. Let someone else do it.” So I claimed another piece, wrote Dean as a prince in it anyway, and then snapped this one up when it became available as a pinch-hit. I’m so glad that I did.
> 
> To hitori-alouette, I hope I did your gorgeous prompt justice despite the quick turnaround. Thank you for being such a wonderful partner and for making so much beautiful art for my little story. Please check out the art masterpost [here.](https://hitori-alouette.tumblr.com/post/185820414063/art-for-circles-of-gold-by-superhoney-summary)
> 
> Thank you to the challenge mods for making sure we are always taken care of. And thank you to Anna, as always, for beta-reading and encouragement and all the other things you do.

The blade flashes in Dean’s hands as he carefully whittles down the block of wood. He doesn’t yet know what shape this carving will take, letting the wood guide him. He hums quietly to himself as he works, an old lullaby passed down through the generations. 

A knock at the door interrupts him, and he slowly puts down the unfinished carving. The knife, he keeps in hand.

Crossing the main room of the small wooden house, he takes a deep breath as he opens the door. Peering out, he’s met with a flash of scarlet, and his heart gives a painful lurch in his chest.

“What is it?” he asks, hastily opening the door all the way and making an impatient gesture at the royal messenger. “Is Sam--”

“The king is well.” The messenger, young enough that Dean doesn’t recognize her, holds up her hands in a calming gesture. “As is the queen.” A smile breaks over her face, and she hands him a scroll sealed with the red and gold crest of the royal family of Carlisse.

Dean takes it, tucking the knife into his waistband as he does. The messenger’s eyes follow his movement, and she takes a slight step back, swallowing visibly. Dean spares a moment to offer her an apologetic grimace before tearing open the scroll and beginning to read.

_Dean,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. As for Sarah and I, well, the happy event we have been anticipating has finally come to pass._

_We have a daughter. Her name is Elinor, and she is perfect._

_The official naming ceremony is on midsummer’s eve. It would mean everything to me, and to Sarah, if you could be there._

_I know it is no easy thing that I ask of you. But please, Dean. Please come._

_Your brother, Sam_

Letting out a shaky exhale, Dean meets the messenger’s eyes. There is a compassion in them he did not expect, and she tilts her head to the side as she surveys him. “I was instructed to await an answer,” she says softly.

Dean licks his lips, dry with nerves. “It is not only my decision to make.”

She nods, her eyes darting to the rest of the house, most of it visible from the doorway. “I can return in the morning?” she offers. “The nearby village has an excellent inn, I’ve been told.”

“It does.” Dean runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Yes. Please. In the morning, you will have your answer.”

The messenger nods again, and is half-sunk into a curtsey before she stops herself, eyes wide. Dean flinches and offers a tight smile as she rises, then closes the door firmly behind her. 

Still holding the scroll in one hand, he slumps back against the heavy wooden door and lets out a muttered oath.

The first time they meet, they are fourteen years old.

Castiel’s first impression of Carlisse is the overwhelming noise of it all. The road to the palace runs through the bustling city outside its walls, and it seems every last inhabitant has turned out to line the streets and watch the procession from Lorivale as it passes. He ducks inside the coach, hiding his face from the curious eyes, as Anna smiles and waves to the crowd. “Isn’t this wonderful?” she asks, eyes shining. “Such a warm welcome.”

“Yes.” Castiel pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his head against them. “Wonderful.”

“Sit up,” his mother snaps. “You will be spending the summer here, Castiel. It is time you accustom yourself to the idea, and embrace it accordingly.”

Swallowing back a bitter reply, Castiel does as instructed. He leans out the carriage window beside Anna and offers a limp wave. A roar rises from the crowd, and a yellow rose comes soaring through the sky. With instincts honed by years of sword practice, Castiel catches it, and the crowd cheers again.

The coach rolls to a stop just inside the gleaming gates of the palace, and smartly-dressed attendants snap to attention, handing Castiel’s mother and sister down with flawless courtesy. Castiel waves away their assistance and descends on his own, blinking in the bright sunlight. 

He sees the queen first, an elegant figure in a sky-blue gown, her golden hair piled high. She smiles gently at him, and without even realizing it, Castiel smiles back. Only then does he glance towards the two boys at her side, both with darker hair but something of her kindness in their eyes.

“You are most welcome,” Queen Mary says, dipping a small curtsey. “Naomi, it is so good to see you.” She crosses to Castiel’s mother, arms outstretched, and Castiel is stunned to see his mother’s usual iciness thaw under the warmth of her smile. She clasps Mary’s hands in her own, a smile playing around her lips. “Thank you for the invitation.”

“Of course.” Mary looks to where Castiel and Anna are standing and beckons them forward. “I have not seen either of you in so long,” she says. “Anna, how tall you have grown! And Castiel, you as well.”

“Your Majesty.” Anna makes a flawless curtsey, eyes wide with wonder as she looks at the queen. “We are grateful for your welcome.”

Mary laughs, running an affectionate hand through Anna’s hair. “No need to stand on ceremony, child. Come. Let me introduce you to my boys.”

She turns and waves the two young princes forward. The taller of the two strides over eagerly, eyes alight with interest. “This is Dean,” the queen says. “My oldest.”

Dean bows with proper courtesy, but the grin on his face as he straightens is full of mischief. “Welcome to Carlisse,” he says.

“And Sam.” The younger boy makes a bow as well, though slightly more awkward. The queen rests her hands on his shoulders, and he looks up at her with relief, visibly leaning into the touch. “You must be weary from your travels. Come, we have a meal prepared in the hall.”

Naomi falls into step beside her, their voices hushed as they lead the way into the palace. Dean offers a gallant arm to Anna, who blushes faintly but lays her hand delicately on his and holds her head high as they follow, leaving Sam and Castiel to bring up the rear.

“I’ve never been to Lorivale,” Dean says as they walk. “Is it very different from here?”

“Much smaller,” Anna replies with a laugh. “Quieter, calmer. It is beautiful, but I admit, at times it can be rather boring.”

Dean laughs, and strangely, Castiel finds himself wishing he had been the one to provoke that response from him. “It’s never boring here,” he boasts. “Archery, riding, singing, dancing-- we will have the most glorious summer ever.”

He looks back over his shoulder, and the full force of his grin hits Castiel like the warm Carlissian sun. “And you?” he asks. “What do you like to do, Prince Castiel?”

Castiel opens his mouth, but no words emerge. He ducks his head, cheeks flaming in embarrassment, as Anna sends him a sympathetic glance. “Castiel is rather shy,” she says, voice lowered. 

He cannot bear to raise his gaze to see what judgment awaits in Dean’s eyes. Slowing his pace, he allows some distance to grow between them, attempting to tune out their easy conversation.

“He means well.” Sam’s quiet voice startles him, and Castiel stumbles. A small hand comes to rest on his elbow, steadying him. “He gets swept away in his enthusiasm sometimes, but he means well.”

Castiel looks down at the younger boy, his hazel eyes wise beyond his ten years. “Thank you,” he says quietly. 

A smile breaks across Sam’s face, lightening its solemn lines. “We will have a good summer. I promise.”

And they do. 

After that first day, Castiel slowly becomes accustomed to life in Carlisse. As promised, their days are full of activities, all those Dean listed and more. They also find time to simply relax, to sit in the palace gardens with a picnic and watch the clouds streak across the sky, shouting out the figures they can discern in the whisps of white. Anna tends to interpret them as animals, Sam as figures from the books he is always reading, while Castiel sees patterns from nature like trees or mountains. Dean seems to take it as his personal mission to make them laugh harder with every wild statement, going so far as to claim that one particularly large cloud perfectly resembles the outrageous hat one of the elderly court ladies has taken to wearing.

There are other, less amusing demands on their time, of course. The two queens host a series of lively academic debates between scholars from both lands, which the royal children attend despite the topics being rather beyond their grasp. Castiel is interested, even when he does not fully understand, but Anna is restless, fidgeting until their mother quells her with a sharp look. They also take tours of the palace, the city, and the surrounding countryside, all rolling hills and rapidly-flowing rivers. Carlisse is a beautiful land, and the longer they spend there, the more reluctant Castiel grows to return home.

One night, as summer draws to a close, he and Dean find themselves in the garden after dark. Lanterns light the paths with a soft glow, and a calm silence hangs in the blossom-scented air. Anna and Sam have already retired for the evening, but Castiel is strangely alert despite the hour, and Dean shows no signs of tiredness other than the way he sprawls on the soft grass, his head pillowed on one arm.

Castiel sits beside him, fingers plucking at the grass, then reaches over and tickles Dean’s nose with a single blade. Dean sneezes, batting his hand away and glaring up at him. When they first met, Castiel might have quailed at his scowl, but now he just laughs.

They are very different, he and Dean, but over the course of the summer, they have become good friends regardless.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks. 

Dean shrugs, sitting up with easy grace. “How much I don’t want summer to end.”

Castiel shuts his eyes and does his best to ignore the sharp pain he feels at the thought. “I don’t either,” he confesses.

“You don’t miss your home?”

“A bit.” Castiel shrugs, opening his eyes. “I miss my friends, and the palace cats. But my family is here with me, and Carlisse is so much more exciting.”

“And of course, I’m here.” Dean grins at him, his teeth flashing in the moonlight.

“Maybe I do miss home after all,” Castiel teases.

Dean reaches out and shoves him gently. Castiel goes sprawling off balance, laughing, and Dean immediately extends a hand to pull him back up. “I heard my mother and Queen Naomi talking the other day,” he says, lowering his voice even though there is no one to overhear him. “They were discussing a visit next summer. To Lorivale.”

“Really?” Castiel’s heart leaps in his chest at the thought. “Just the queen, or--”

“All of us.” Dean tosses a casual arm around Castiel’s shoulder, squeezing him close. “For the whole summer, just like you’ve spent this one here.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Castiel whispers. “But why?”

Dean removes his arm, and Castiel feels suddenly cold without its warm weight. “I don’t know,” he admits. “One of the attendants came around and glared at me for eavesdropping, so I couldn’t catch the rest of the conversation.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, half laughing and half scolding. “You shouldn’t be listening in on private conversations.”

“What?” Dean grins again, eyes bright with mischief and starlight. “Come on, Cas. If I hadn’t been listening, we’d both be sitting here thinking this would be our last summer together. Now we know we have the next one to look forward to as well.”

It does comfort Castiel, knowing that even when he leaves Carlisse, he will see Dean again. And Sam, and Queen Mary, but--

If he is being honest with himself, it is Dean he will miss the most.

“Will you write to me?” he asks. His voice is small, and he hates himself for it, for retreating to the shy, bumbling boy he had been when he first arrived here.

But Dean doesn’t scorn him for it. He never has. “Of course I will,” he says softly. “You’re my best friend, Cas.”

A lump rises in Castiel’s throat, and he swallows roughly. “You’re my best friend too, Dean.”

The carving rests unfinished on the table as the sun slowly sinks in the sky. Dean sits in the winged chair before the hearth, head tipped back against the soft fabric and eyes closed. He doesn’t stir when the door creaks open, knowing there’s only one person who would enter unannounced.

Soft lips press against his forehead as a warm weight settles onto the arm of the chair. “Dean? Is something the matter?”

Dean opens his eyes and meets Castiel’s concerned gaze. His mouth tightens, and he nods towards the scroll lying open on the table. Castiel glances at it, interest sparking in his eyes, but doesn’t move.

“Tell me about it,” he says softly.

“I have a niece.” Dean looks away, eyes drawn to the northern side of the house. To what lies beyond its simple wooden walls. “Her name is Elinor.”

Castiel is quiet for a long moment. “That’s a beautiful name,” he says eventually.

“It is,” Dean agrees. He reaches out and tugs Castiel down onto his lap, and Castiel goes easily, wrapping his arms around Dean and tilting his face up towards him. “Sam has asked that I attend the naming ceremony.”

“You are her uncle.” Castiel’s eyes rove over his face, searching. “And I know Sam would be disappointed if you weren’t there.”

“I know.” Dean sighs, leaning forward until his forehead touches Castiel’s. “And yet--”

“And yet,” Castiel echoes. His breath is warm against the side of Dean’s face. “How long do you have to decide?”

Dean draws back far enough that he can look into his face. “Until morning.”

It does not feel like nearly enough time. Castiel just nods, then curls closer. “I brought back some carrots and potatoes,” he says, voice muffled by the way his face is tucked into the crook of Dean’s shoulder. “We can make soup.”

Tightening his arms around him, Dean sighs. “That sounds perfect.” He shifts slightly, seeking a more comfortable position. “But first--”

He raises his face, and Castiel meets him halfway.

At sixteen, they are both gangly and awkward, more limbs and elbows than anything else. Castiel’s knees ache from being confined in the carriage for the long journey to Carlisse, but he cannot contain the smile that spreads across his face at the thought of another perfect summer. 

Across from him, Anna smiles at his visible enthusiasm. “It’s good to see you so happy,” she says. Her red-gold hair has darkened over the past year, and it shines in the sunlight that spills into the carriage. She sits with the poise of a grown woman despite being a few days away from her fifteenth nameday. 

Castiel flushes faintly as his mother turns an inquisitive look his way. As always, she seems to soften the closer they get to Carlisse. Beyond everything else, Castiel is grateful for this, for the way the strain of ruling falls away from her, revealing the woman behind the crown.

“You are still enjoying these visits, then?” she asks, arching one eyebrow.

“Yes, Mother,” Castiel answers. “Very much so.”

A rare smile softens her face. “Good.” She turns to look out the window as the carriage slows to accommodate the narrower streets of the city. “Wave to the people, children. They are enjoying these visits as well.”

Anna rolls her eyes fondly, but slips on a charming smile and leans out the window. A beat later, Castiel does the same.

There is no ceremony when they roll into the palace courtyard now. Castiel is down from the carriage in a flash, throwing himself into Dean’s fierce hug with a glad cry. He pulls away, noting the spray of new freckles across Dean’s nose and the way his eyes are now only level with Castiel’s chin.

“I told you I was taller,” he says smugly.

Dean sighs and casts a significant look at Castiel’s dress boots. “You have more of a heel than I do,” he points out.

“Boys.” Queen Mary’s voice is amused, but stern. “There will be plenty of time for your bickering later.” She spreads her arms wide, and Castiel embraces her as well, the fresh scent of lilacs that always clings to her gowns both familiar and comforting. “Welcome back, Castiel.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” He uses the title now more to provoke her than anything, and when she shakes her head fondly, he exchanges a triumphant look with Dean. 

“You used to be so polite,” she says with a sigh. “I suppose we only have ourselves to blame for this boldness of yours.” She turns to Anna, then, smiling. “And you? Have we also wrought this change in you?”

Anna widens her eyes, all guileless innocence. “Me? Of course not. I am the very picture of a proper princess.” She giggles, unable to hold the impression for long, and leans up to plant a fond kiss on Queen Mary’s cheek. “Thank heavens that is not true. How boring it would be.”

“So boring,” Dean whispers to Castiel. “Come on. Bobby and Rufus have been working on something I want to show you.”

They both look up at their mothers, who exchange indulgent glances over their heads. “Go on, then,” Naomi says. “Be sure to be back in time to dress for dinner.”

Dean reaches down to clasp Castiel by the elbow, and then they’re off.

The project Bobby and Rufus have been working on is a rough, ramshackle hut just within the forest that borders the palace’s eastern wall. They pass through the small gate, Dean waving to the guards on duty, and are soon swallowed up by the towering trees. “We started earlier in the spring,” Dean explains as he holds a branch out of the way. “Sam found the design in one of those books of his, and Bobby and Rufus let me help them build it.”

The hut is small, barely large enough for both of them to sprawl out in, but Castiel loves it from the moment he lays eyes on it. “It’s perfect,” he says quietly.

Dean meets his gaze, smiling proudly. “I’m glad you like it.”

They spend much of the summer there. Sam and Anna come with them on occasion, but Anna has struck up a friendship with the daughter of a court lord, and they are often found laughing together over some matter that neither Dean nor Castiel can make any sense of. At twelve, Sam is focused on his studies, spending long days training with the guards and poring over ancient texts with the palace librarians. He will bring a book with him if he does come to the woods, and stretch himself out on the forest floor reading while Dean and Castiel play games or pass the day in conversation.

Summer in Carlisse is generally warm and bright, but the occasional storm does roll through, darkening the skies for a few hours before the sun returns. One afternoon, while Dean and Castiel are in the woods, fierce grey clouds gather in the sky without warning, and they duck for cover under the flimsy roof of their hut. 

“It was so clear this morning,” Dean says, peering out the doorway with a frown. “I don’t much like the thought of dashing home in that.”

“No,” Castiel says, settling down as far from the entrance as possible. “We’ll wait it out here. It can’t last long.”

Despite his words, an hour passes with no sign of the rain slowing. Thunder booms above them, and when a sharp crack of lightning illuminates the clearing around them, Dean flinches.

Castiel watches him for a moment, then pats the ground beside himself. “Come here,” he says quietly.

With one last glance up at the sky, Dean does as instructed.

“Are you afraid of storms?” Castiel asks gently. Dean is always so fearless-- reckless, even. It is a surprise to see him so quiet, so vulnerable.

Dean is silent for so long Castiel fears he’s angered him beyond repair. Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, Dean says, “Do you know how my father died?”

Castiel draws in a startled breath. This is the third summer they have spent together, and in all that time, Dean has never mentioned his father.

“No.”

Shivering, Dean draws his knees up to his chest and hugs them tightly. “He was out riding with some of his courtiers when a sudden storm came upon them. His friends sought shelter, but he wanted to be home swiftly, so he rode on.”

A terrible foreboding runs through Castiel as Dean continues. “The road was muddy. We don’t know what happened, if his horse bolted or if it was startled by the storm, but his friends found him hours later, lying on the side of the road. He must have struck his head in the fall.”

Reaching out, Castiel lays a tentative hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “How old were you?”

“Eight.” Dean’s reply is muffled, his face turned away from Castiel. “Poor Sam was only four. He doesn’t even remember him.”

“I was eleven.” Castiel lets his hand drop, curling it into a fist at his side. “When my father died, I mean.”

A moment later, he feels Dean’s hand come to rest on top of his. “What happened?”

“An infection.” Castiel remembers the chaos of his father’s bedside, the healers and priests always clustered around him, his mother standing straight and proud at the foot of his bed. “No one understood why it took him, healthy as he was otherwise.”

Dean’s hand tightens on his, and they sit in silence broken only by the storm raging around them. 

“I wonder, sometimes, what he would think of me now,” Castiel says suddenly. “If he would be proud of me.”

“Of course he would,” Dean says without hesitation. “Why would you even think otherwise?”

Castiel shrugs, looking down at the ground. “He talked a great deal about duty, about the responsibilities of a king. It all made sense when he said it, but now--” 

He trails off, and when he doesn’t continue, Dean pokes him in the side, making him yelp. “You can’t leave it there,” he says. “Now what?”

“Now I wonder if I even want to be king,” Castiel says in a rush. He has never before dared voice this aloud, but everything about this moment feels detached from reality, the storm and the isolation and the warmth of Dean’s body, so close to his own. “You’ve been to Lorivale now, Dean. You know how rigid the court structure is, how petty the feuds and the grappling for power. It’s exhausting, and most of the time I would rather be here.”

“I would rather you be here as well,” Dean admits. “But when you become king, Cas, you’ll have a chance to change all of that. To make things better.”

“I know.” Castiel sighs, stretching out on the ground and covering his face with his arm. “Perhaps it’s selfish, but I can’t help thinking about other things. Other lives.”

The soft fabric of Dean’s shirt rustles as he mimics Castiel’s position. “I do too,” he says quietly. “I am ready to be king. I want to be a good king, and my mother has prepared me well for it. But there are times I wish I could have chosen it, rather than being marked for it just because of the circumstances of my birth.”

“Exactly.” Castiel pushes himself up on one elbow and looks down into Dean’s face. “Just to have that choice--”

He trails off as Dean blinks up at him. A flash of lightning illuminates the hut, revealing Dean’s wide eyes and softly parted lips. Castiel’s breath hitches in his throat, and he pulls back, heart beating wildly in his chest. 

“Cas?”

Dean’s voice breaks through the pounding of Castiel’s blood in his ears, and he inhales deeply. “I’m fine,” he lies. “I didn’t realize how much it would upset me, discussing this.”

“I’m sorry.” He feels Dean shift back into a seated position beside him. “But in happier news, I think the rain might be slowing.”

Castiel scrambles to his feet and sticks his head out the door. A few scattered raindrops fall on his upturned face, but the sky is already clearer, streaks of blue breaking through the grey. “We should get back,” he says, not looking at Dean. “My mother will scold us if we’re late for dinner.”

“She doesn’t scare me nearly as much as she used to,” Dean says as he emerges, brushing dirt off his shirt as he does. “But that is still an effective motivator.”

They’re within sight of the palace walls when Dean stops Castiel with a hand on his shoulder. “What we talked about--” He swallows roughly, looking down at the ground. “I’ve never told anyone else that. About the storms.”

Something soft and warm settles in Castiel’s chest, and he reaches up to lay his own hand over Dean’s. “It will be our secret,” he promises.

They prepare their meal with the ease of long-established routine. Dean peels potatoes, quick and efficient with the knife from his daily woodcarving, while Castiel chops them roughly and adds them to the pot simmering over the kitchen fire. They work in silence, but Dean can feel Castiel’s eyes on his back, cautious.

They will have to discuss it, and sooner rather than later, but Dean will take these few precious moments of peace while he still can. 

Once they’re seated at the table, the one Dean built for them so many years ago, Castiel extends his legs and brushes his foot against Dean’s. Dean smiles despite himself and presses back, that point of contact offering immeasurable comfort against his troubled thoughts. 

When they’ve finished eating, Castiel pushes his bowl aside and laces his fingers together, looking steadily at Dean. Dean sighs, dropping his head into his hands. “I do not want to go,” he says, voice muffled. “But I don’t want to miss the ceremony, either.”

“Nor do I.” It is the first Castiel has spoken of his own interest in the matter, and it prompts Dean to raise his head, startled. Castiel shrugs, not meeting his eyes, but there’s a tightness to the set of his shoulders that has Dean instantly alert.

“What is it?” he asks, reaching across the table and taking hold of Castiel’s hand. It is as rough as his own, now, when once it used to be soft and smooth. Dean swallows heavily as he rubs his thumb over Castiel’s wrist, giving him the time he needs to gather himself.

“I will not tell you what you ought to do,” Castiel says eventually. “But, Dean-- your family misses you. They want you to be involved in their lives, in the life of its newest member.” He breaks off, eyes distant, and Dean’s heart clenches painfully in his chest. How could he have been so thoughtless--

“If my family offered me that chance,” Castiel says, smiling sadly, “I would take it without hesitation.”

There have been many grand balls and fêtes hosted over the past few summers, but the masquerade in honour of Anna’s seventeenth nameday outshines them all.

The ballroom is hung with garlands of gold and blue, white and yellow roses spreading their heady fragrance through the air. The black-and-white tiled floor gleams beneath the dancers’ feet, and the music is perfectly pitched to carry out onto the balconies that open off the room. 

It is not to Castiel’s taste, any of it, but Anna is delighted, and he is happy for her. 

She is dancing every set, twirling from one partner to the next, her blue gown flowing behind her as she dips and turns, her smile wide under the gold mask she wears. Castiel has danced a few times, but is currently sipping a glass of fruit wine in the corner of the room. Sam stands with him, eyes locked on a pretty dark-haired young woman across the dance floor, and Castiel follows his gaze with amusement. Sam is fourteen now, starting to take notice of things other than his studies. The girl looks their way, a charming blush colouring her cheeks, and Castiel gives his friend a gentle shove.

“Ask her to dance,” he whispers. 

“I don’t even know her name!” Sam protests. 

Castiel shakes his head. “She knows yours, I can promise you that. Go on.” He watches in amusement as Sam takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, then weaves his way across the dance floor towards the girl. A moment later, he hears a huff of soft laughter as Dean comes to stand beside him, observing Sam’s slightly awkward bow. 

“Good for him,” Dean says, nodding proudly. “I thought he might never have the courage to approach anyone.”

Castiel glances at him sidelong. Dean is dressed in a crisp black jacket over a white shirt and tan trousers, his tall boots hugging his calves. A simple black mask covers the upper portion of his face, but those familiar green eyes cannot be disguised. Much to Castiel’s dismay, Dean now has the advantage of two or so inches in height, and they both seem unlikely to do any more growing. 

“Not everyone has your boldness, Dean,” he says, arching one eyebrow.

Dean grins easily at him, shrugging. “It’s all just in fun,” he replies. “No promises made, no hearts bruised.”

Castiel presses his lips together and does not reply. He cannot judge Dean for his flirtations, for the kisses he has recounted to Castiel in rapturous detail. He has kissed a few people over the past years, in much the same spirit as Dean is describing. It doesn’t mean anything, and he knows it hasn’t for Dean either.

He opens his mouth to reply, to make some lighthearted comment, but the music fades out and the dancers erupt into polite applause. Dean and Castiel join them, exchanging a surprised look as their mothers rise from their places at the head table, smiling out at the crowd.

“Thank you all for attending tonight,” Naomi says. “We gather here to honour Princess Anna’s seventeenth nameday, and the grace, kindness, and fairness she displays, so far beyond one so young.”

Queen Mary smiles out at the dancers, raising her glass in Anna’s direction. “We have been blessed to enjoy the company of the royal family of Lorivale these past summers. In honour of the friendship that has grown between our lands, I urge my son, Prince Dean, to lead Princess Anna in a dance symbolizing the deep ties between us, and those still yet to come.”

A sick feeling rises in Castiel’s stomach. He glances at Dean, whose eyes are slightly narrowed as he looks at his mother. Castiel reaches out to him, but Dean just straightens his back, clicking his heels together and striding jauntily towards the center of the room and making a low bow in Anna’s direction. 

The music begins again, something softer and slower. Anna dips a perfect curtsey, and Dean wraps an arm around her waist as they begin to dance. 

They make a striking picture, Dean’s height and Anna’s red hair, their masks adding to the image rather than detracting from it. Looking around him, Castiel sees the speculation in the eyes of the assembled guests, the way many of them sigh and smile as Dean twirls Anna in a complicated step, her skirts flying around them. 

Mary’s words echo in Castiel’s ears as he watches them dance. _The deep ties between us, and those still yet to come._ He knows, now, what she was implying. A match between Dean and Anna. It would make perfect sense, joining their two lands together and securing their alliance against the growing power of the western kingdoms. 

And yet Castiel cannot bear the thought of it.

He tears his gaze away from Dean and Anna, stumbling towards the nearest balcony. The glass doors are open, but it is thankfully unoccupied. Castiel tears his mask away from his face and tilts his face up to the sky, gasping in lungfuls of the cool night air. 

He has known for some time that what he feels for Dean is more than friendship, but he has been content to allow it to simmer beneath the surface, to enjoy their relationship for what it is without desiring more. But now, realizing that he may never have a chance, that he might have to swallow down his feelings and pretend gladness for his sister and his best friend, he cannot bear to watch it unfold before him.

How long he stands there, he does not know. He closed the door behind himself, cutting off the music, so when it suddenly spills out onto the balcony again he whirls, fists clenched and angry words springing to his lips. 

He freezes when he sees Dean standing there, his mask also removed, eyes unreadable. 

“Dean.” He does not know what else to say. Castiel swallows roughly, then turns away, looking out over the gardens. 

A moment later, he feels the warmth of Dean’s body as he comes to stand beside him. He is uncharacteristically quiet, and Castiel imagines he is struggling to find the right words to tell Castiel. To break the news of the royal engagement that must have been the desired outcome of these summers spent together all along. 

“I’m happy for you,” Castiel says softly. It’s a lie, of course, but he will have to begin practicing it at some point. “And for Anna. You will be good to her, I know, and she to you.”

Slowly, Dean raises his head and meets Castiel’s eyes. “Your sister is very beautiful,” he says, and Castiel’s last shred of hope vanishes with those words. “And I would be good to her.”

He pauses, sighing, as Castiel fights to hold back tears.

“We would have to be stupid to miss the hints our mothers were throwing with that speech." Dean smiles, a small, tentative thing. “But I do not love Anna, and she does not love me.”

Castiel’s breath catches in his throat as Dean reaches out and closes a gentle hand over his on the railing of the balcony. “Both of our hearts are already lost elsewhere.”

It must be the wine going to his head. Dizzy, Castiel can only stand, frozen, as Dean slowly raises his hand to his lips. “Cas,” he whispers, eyes wide. “I--”

He touches his lips to the back of Castiel’s hand, and in that moment, everything changes.

Castiel lets out a soft gasp at the feeling of Dean’s lips against his hand. Dean draws back, startled, hurt flashing across his features. He moves to drop Castiel’s hand, but Castiel holds it tightly, staring up at him.

“Don’t say it’s all just in fun,” he begs. He has no wish to be a mere flirtation, or a distraction. “Don’t say it doesn’t mean anything.”

Dean shakes his head, eyes steady on Castiel. “No,” he says. “Cas, it means everything.”

Relief washes over Castiel like the summer breeze. Tilting his head to the side, he blinks up at Dean, watching the way his lips part softly as he does. “Then kiss me properly,” he murmurs.

Dean lets out a triumphant laugh. It is quickly cut off as their lips meet, as Castiel winds his arms around Dean’s neck and pulls him closer, as Dean spreads his hands against the small of Castiel’s back and presses them together. Castiel throws his head back and gasps as Dean trails kisses across his cheeks, then down the side of his neck. He shivers, feeling the hard muscles of Dean’s chest against his own, and slides his hand down to dip inside Dean’s shirt.

Dean makes a beautiful noise, somewhere between a moan and a growl, and returns to his lips with renewed enthusiasm. When they eventually break apart, both panting for breath, Castiel lets out a laugh of his own and rests his forehead against Dean’s, still clutching him tightly.

“It may not be the match they expected,” he says, beaming up at Dean. “But the outcome will be the same, and it will be our choice. One of the few we have in this life.”

“Yes.” Dean smiles, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “Gods, Cas, I can barely believe--”

Castiel kisses him again, simply because he can. Dean surrenders with no protest, and they pass another few minutes kissing and whispering in the moonlight before Dean pulls away. 

“Let’s go tell them the good news,” he says.

He reaches down, and hand-in-hand, they re-enter the ballroom.

After that, Dean’s decision is made.

Midsummer’s eve is only five days away, and it will take three of those to journey to Carlisse. They retire to sleep that evening with the following day’s departure hanging over them like a cloud heavy with the anticipation of a storm, and when Dean clings to Castiel in the dark, it is with a desperate need he has not felt in years.

In the morning, they pack their belongings. Bread, cheese, and apples are all stowed carefully in a satchel, their flasks filled with water from the well. A few rough blocks of wood and his favourite knife go into another bag, along with a sheaf of parchment and Castiel’s sticks of graphite. Dean does not know how much time they will have to indulge their hobbies amidst the hustle and bustle of the palace, but he would rather be prepared than not. 

Once everything is ready, Dean stands in the centre of the cabin, looking around at its familiar charms. The heavy woven rug on the floor, the wooden chairs that creak the instant you sit in them, the carvings he has made cluttering up the mantle above the fire. 

A pair of strong arms slip around his waist, and he leans back against Castiel with a sigh. “We will not be gone long,” Castiel says quietly. “A week, ten days at most. The garden will need some work when we return, but it will not fall entirely to pieces without us.”

“I know.” Dean turns in his arms and grimaces. “But the thought of taking that first step out the door, of crossing the threshold knowing where we’re headed--”

A smile plays around Castiel’s lips, and in a sudden burst of movement, he swings Dean up into his arms.

Dean lets out an undignified yelp, scrambling for hold as Castiel staggers towards the door, thrown off balance by his weight. He makes it out the door without stumbling, though, and only then does he deposit Dean, grinning all the while.

Dean scowls at him, folding his arms across his chest. “You’re absurd,” he informs him.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Castiel raises one eyebrow, still smiling. When Dean doesn’t reply, the smile slowly fades, replaced by a look of concern. “It’s not too late to change your mind,” he says quietly. “We don’t have to go, Dean.”

Exhaling slowly, Dean shakes his head. “We don’t,” he agrees. “But we will.”

Hefting the pack into a more comfortable position, he rounds the corner of the cabin towards the small outbuilding where they keep their horses. Impala whickers as he approaches, and he reaches out to stroke a hand down her soft nose. Beside her, Corvus neighs a greeting to Castiel, who smiles as he pats the gelding’s flank. 

Once the horses are properly equipped, there are no more reasons to delay. Dean swings onto Impala’s back and presses his heels lightly against her sides. “Come on, girl,” he murmurs to her. “It’s time to go home.”

The ballroom is too crowded, their mothers too busy with their duties for Dean and Castiel to approach them that night. They pass the rest of the evening dancing and making polite conversation with various guests, but Castiel finds his gaze drawn to Dean every time they are pulled apart. He attempts to distract himself by watching Sam dance with the dark-haired girl from earlier, or by counting the number of different admirers who flock to Anna’s side as she pauses to refresh herself with a glass of wine.

He can still feel the press of Dean’s lips against his own. Raising his hand, he brushes it unconsciously across his mouth, remembering the taste of Dean’s lips, the warmth and softness of them. His other hand opens and closes reflexively at his side, and he lets out a shaky sigh. 

As part of the formalities, he and his family make a ceremonial exit. Castiel throws a longing look at Dean over his shoulder as they depart the ballroom, and Dean presses his hand to his heart, eyes steady on his. That small gesture sends a bolt of courage through Castiel, and he turns to his mother, interrupting Anna’s steady stream of chatter.

“Pardon me,” he says to her. “Mother, might we talk in the morning? With Queen Mary, and Prince Dean?”

Naomi frowns at him, but nods. “Very well, Castiel. I assume you would not cut your sister off so rudely were it not an important matter.”

A flush rises to Castiel’s cheeks, but he keeps his head held high. “Yes, Mother. Thank you.” He glances at Anna, who looks more intrigued than offended at his rudeness. “Please, continue.”

With a small shrug, Anna launches back into her description of her favourite songs, the masks she found the most beautiful. Castiel listens with an indulgent smile, the bitterness he felt watching her dance with Dean now entirely vanished. 

He finds it difficult to sleep that night, but when he does, he dreams of Dean.

In the morning, he dresses carefully, smoothing his unruly hair into something vaguely presentable. Swallowing nervously, he leaves his chambers and makes for the morning room on the upper level of the palace, where his mother and Queen Mary await.

Dean is already there, and he meets Castiel’s eyes with a reassuring smile as he enters. Castiel takes the empty seat beside him after a brief bow to the queens, reaching for the glass of juice before him to wet his dry throat. 

Naomi folds her hands neatly in front of herself on the table and levels a cool stare at Castiel. “Now, please tell us why you have requested our presence here today, Castiel.”

Dean’s hand brushes against his under the table, and Castiel takes a deep breath, drawing courage from his nearness. “Dean and I have something to tell you,” he says. 

Mary raises an expectant eyebrow, but Naomi’s mouth tightens, and Castiel’s nerve fails him. Dean squares his shoulders and meet his mother’s gaze, his voice only trembling slightly on his next words. “We are in love.”

Two sets of eyes go almost comically wide. “You are--” Mary sputters, blinking at them. “I knew the two of you have become close over the years, but--”

Dean glances sidelong at Castiel, soft and fond. “We have. I didn’t even realize just how close until recently.” 

Castiel has been watching his mother, the way her face has paled and her lips have thinned. “I am happy for you,” she says eventually, though she sounds anything but. “I assume your intent in telling us was to gently break the news that there could be no match between Dean and Anna.”

Dean grimaces, but holds his head high. Castiel’s heart swells with fondness at the way he meets Naomi’s gaze, apologetic but not remorseful. “I am sorry,” he says. “But I can assure you, Princess Anna will not be hurt by this news. She thinks of me only as a friend.”

“It is not her feelings I am concerned with,” Naomi snaps. She rises to her feet, pacing around the room. “All these years. All these visits. Our hopes for the future, ruined.”

At that, Castiel frowns. Dean gives a small shrug, as puzzled as he is by her words. “What do you mean?” Castiel asks. “It may not be the exact alliance you sought, but if Dean and I marry, our two lands will still be joined together.”

Naomi mutters something under her breath, but Mary looks at the two of them with sorrow in her eyes. “No, my dears,” she says. “We seek an alliance, not an amalgamation. You are both heirs to the respective thrones of Carlisse and Lorivale.”

It takes a moment for her words to sink in, and when they do, Castiel bites down hard on his lower lip. Of course. Anna marrying Dean and becoming queen in Carlisse would have no impact on the succession in Lorivale, but if he and Dean were to marry--

“I am sorry,” Mary continues, “but it simply cannot be.”

“Why not?” Dean casts an angry look in his mother’s direction, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because of tradition? Tradition can be changed.”

“No, love.” Mary shakes her head. “Because an alliance is a defensive arrangement, but an amalgamation is an offensive one.”

“The western kingdoms would see it as a provocation,” Castiel says, voice steady despite the way his heart is shattering in his chest. “We cannot risk their anger and retaliation.”

“Precisely.” His mother gives a sharp nod. “Now do you understand? There is more at stake here than your feelings.” She softens slightly, giving Castiel a small shrug. “You are young. You will love again. And if fortune smiles on you, you will make a match that brings happiness to you and stability to the kingdom at the same time.”

“It’s not fair!” Dean exclaims as he rises to his feet. He throws a despairing glance in Castiel’s direction, hands clenching into fists at his side, and his voice cracks. “It’s not fair.”

“No, it isn’t.” Mary crosses the room and places soft hands on his shoulders, raising his face up to hers. “But you and Castiel can still see each other. You can still have the friendship you have built over the years. The infatuation will fade, Dean.” A sad smile hovers around her lips. “First love always does.”

“It’s not an infatuation,” Castiel protests. He wishes he had said the words the night before, for Dean’s ears alone, but he cannot change that now. “I love Dean. And he--” He stumbles, heart in his throat. Dean never--

“And I love Castiel,” Dean finishes smoothly. Castiel lets out a sigh of relief, his happiness at hearing those words only slightly diminished by the circumstances. “How can you ask us to find other partners when that is true and always will be?”

“You must,” Naomi says tightly. “Do you think I loved your father when we first met, Castiel?”

Blinking, Castiel considers the question. He has never truly given it thought. “I--”

“I did not,” Naomi informs him. “But we grew fond of another, and youthful dreams disappeared under the shared responsibilities of running the kingdom and raising our children.” 

“We will not force a match that is distasteful to you,” Mary says to Dean. “But you and Castiel cannot marry.”

Dean lets out a bitter laugh, and Castiel winces at the harsh sound. “Don’t you understand? Any match that is not with Castiel will be distasteful to me.”

He clicks his boot heels together, his bow sharp and precise, then storms from the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

“Castiel--” his mother says, a warning clear in her voice, but Castiel ignores her. He shakes his head tightly, nods jerkily in Mary’s direction, and follows after Dean.

He finds him in the garden, plucking moodily at blades of grass. Castiel sighs as he settles onto the ground beside him, placing a hand over his and stilling his movements. “We should have known,” he says, not meeting Dean’s eyes. “We should have considered the implications of the alliance.”

“We shouldn’t have to,” Dean replies. His shoulders are set in stubborn lines, his jaw tight. “I can’t do it, Cas. I can’t marry someone else.”

“Neither can I.” Castiel frowns as he thinks back over their conversation with the queens, replaying their justifications in his mind. “But what if--”

It would be an enormous decision. But the moment the possibility crosses Castiel’s mind, he cannot ignore it.

“What if one of us weren’t the heir?” he says, the words running together in his excitement. “They were prepared to accept a match between you and Anna for that reason. If I give up my claim to the throne of Lorivale, how would you and I marrying be any different from that?”

He sees the light of hope flare in Dean’s eyes before it quickly fades. “Cas, no,” he protests. “I cannot ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking.” Castiel shakes his head. “I am offering. You know I’ve had my doubts about becoming king, long before this.” Reaching down between them, he takes hold of Dean’s hand. “Between the crown and you, I would choose you, every time.”

Dean meets his eyes, and he must see Castiel’s resolve, because he nods, tightening his grip on his hand. “Then it’s only fair that I make the same choice,” he says.

Castiel blinks at him, thrown off by his statement. “Dean, what--”

“I can’t let you make that sacrifice alone,” Dean says. “Sam can be king instead of me. He’ll be wonderful at it.” He raises Castiel’s hand to his lips and presses a kiss to his palm, eyes determined. “We will do this together, or not at all.”

At his first sight of the palace of Carlisse in seven years, Dean lets out a long, shaky breath. Impala prances beneath him, catching his unease, and he settles a hand on her neck as much for his benefit as for hers. Beside him, Castiel reins Corvus to a halt and casts a knowing look in Dean’s direction.

The palace has not changed at all, at least not from this distance. But what awaits them within surely has. 

There is no sense delaying further. They have come this far already, and in his heart, Dean longs to see his family again, to meet his new niece and to watch his mother coo over her first grandchild. He swallows roughly and meets Castiel’s eyes. “Let’s go,” he says, and presses his heels against Impala’s side.

They are met at the gate by two armed guards, but beneath their helms, Dean recognizes a familiar face, even after seven years. A smile springs unbidden to his lips, and he swings down from his saddle as Charlie lets out a shriek and throws herself into his arms. The other guard, startled, raises a hand, but Charlie cuts him off with a word. “Dean,” she says, eyes wide. “We weren’t sure--”

So Sam did not tell her that he was coming. That they were coming, he corrects himself, glancing at Castiel. He has a polite smile on his lips as he nods at Charlie, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that Dean does not like.

Gently, he distentangles himself from Charlie’s embrace. “We will talk later,” he promises. “But for now--”

She nods again, stepping aside to allow them entry. “You’ll likely find them in the nursery,” she says. Her eyes soften as she glances up at the castle’s highest tower. “She’s perfect, Dean. And considering the size of Sam, surprisingly tiny.”

Dean laughs and leans down to kiss her forehead, awed at how natural it feels despite the years that have passed. “Thank you, Charlie.”

She raises her hand in a salute, then grimaces. The other guard watches them, puzzled still, and Dean winces as he passes over Impala’s reins and gestures to Castiel to do the same.

Everything inside the castle is exactly as he remembers it: the gleaming black and white tiled floors, the colourful tapestries hanging from the walls. They draw curious glances as they pass through the corridors, but no one stops to question them. As they begin to climb the grand staircase that leads to the upper levels, Castiel’s hand slips into Dean’s, and he looks down at him with a grateful smile. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Castiel says quietly. “Truly, Dean.”

Dean shakes his head, feeling his cheeks flush. “I would not be able to do this without you,” he replies, meaning every word of it.

Castiel smiles but says nothing.

They pass the level where Dean used to have his chambers, and he hesitates on the landing for a mere moment, memories surging to the surface of his mind. He and Sam sliding down these very stairs, their mother shouting fondly after them. Trudging up towards his rooms after a long day of sword practice, exhausted but satisfied, and flopping into a heap on this very landing, refusing to go a step further. 

Leaving his room in the middle of the night, seven years ago, creeping noiselessly down these stairs and into the unknown.

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice breaks him out of his reverie. “This can wait. If you need some time to adjust--”

“I’m fine.” The words come out harsher than Dean intended, and he softens them with a light brush of his hand down Castiel’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Come on,” he says, and gently tugs Dean up the stairs.

The nursery is at the very top of the tower. The last time Dean was here was when Sam was a baby, and so it does not bring back as many memories as the rest of the castle. Instead, he feels only a curious combination of anticipation and anxiety as they round the last corner and the ornately carved wooden door comes into view.

It is too late to turn back now. They will have heard the approaching footsteps, and will likely know to whom they belong. Dean squares his shoulders, tightens his grip on Castiel’s hand, and walks into the nursery to greet the family he has not seen in seven years.

At first, Castiel wondered if his mother might be right. If his feelings for Dean would fade over time, if they would settle back into friendship and put their other yearnings behind them.

But two years after that fateful conversation, Castiel’s love has only grown stronger. 

They have been content to let matters rest, to not push their luck by making demands of their mothers and risking rupture in those relationships. Last summer, in Lorivale, they made a conscious choice to spend more time with Sam and Anna, to lull the queens into a false sense of security. Neither Naomi nor Mary pressed them on the matter, for which Castiel was grateful-- he has never found it easy to lie to his mother.

All the while, though, he and Dean were dreaming of the day they could leave it all behind them.

That day is finally within sight. They have both passed their twentieth namedays, and as such, have reached full adulthood in the eyes of both Carlissian and Lorivalese law. 

Not once has Castiel questioned his decision. His mother is still young, her mind as sharp as ever, and she will continue to reign for many years. The matter of succession can be determined in that time. Anna may wish to become queen, or she may not. It does not matter to Castiel. 

All that matters is that he is free to make his own choices, and so is Dean.

He and his family have been in Carlisse for only a week when Dean covertly slips him a note under the breakfast table, cheerfully carrying on his conversation with Sam all the while. Castiel excuses himself a few moments later and reads the note in the privacy of a sheltered nook just outside the family dining room. 

_Meet me tonight, in the garden. We have matters to discuss, and a trusted friend will be there to help us._

No details that might give away their plans. Castiel nods approvingly but tears the note into tiny pieces regardless, then tucks them into the pocket of his breeches and returns to the table, giving Dean a tiny nod as he does. 

That night, he steals out of his chambers and through the quiet halls of the castle. The few guards he encounters do not question him, accustomed as they are to his presence after so many summers spent here. Castiel nods politely to them all, and even spares a smile for Charlie, who he knows is a particular friend of Dean’s though he has not personally spent much time with her.

The garden is lit by a few flickering torches, barely enough to see by, but Castiel knows its familiar paths by heart. He finds Dean exactly where he expects him to be, but what he does not expect is the figure standing next to him, arms crossed over his chest.

“Rufus?” he says, coming to a halt. “Rufus is your trusted friend?”

He sees Dean frown as he steps forward. “Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No,” Castiel murmurs, casting a wary look at the older man, who is watching them with what might be amusement in his eyes. “Just-- surprising, that’s all.”

Dean gives him a reassuring smile and lowers his voice. “He may be gruff, but he has a good heart. He married his wife when they were very young, you know, and they were happy together until she died a few years ago.”

Castiel swallows back his protests and looks up to meet Rufus’ eyes, giving him a small nod. “Thank you for your assistance,” he says, proud of the way he keeps his voice steady. “It means a great deal to the both of us.”

“I still think it’s a damned foolish thing to do,” Rufus mutters. “You boys might love each other, I don’t question that. I don’t even question the idea that you’ll love each other for a long time. But have you really thought about what that’s going to cost you?”

Dean and Castiel exchange silent looks, and Dean shrugs. “We don’t care about the crowns,” he says. “We never have.”

“I don’t just mean the gold and the shiny things,” Rufus says, shaking his head. “I mean the loss of everything you’ve ever known, everything and everyone you’ve ever loved.”

At that, Castiel sees Dean’s resolve falter, only if for a moment. “What do you mean?”

Rufus sighs and sits down on the grass, gesturing to them to do the same. “Giving up the throne and running away together sounds romantic, I know. But have you considered what else happens if you do this, how your families might react?”

Castiel shrugs. “They will be furious, of course.”

“Of course,” Rufus echoes. “And what shape will that fury take?”

Dean is silent for a long moment, his brow furrowed in thought. “They would never seek to punish us for it. Our families love us, and they will understand, in time. Once the shock has faded.”

“I hope you’re right, boy.” Rufus lets out a deep breath and tugs on the gold stud in his ear. “Now. You still want to do this?”

Castiel answers without hesitation. “Yes.”

There is a pause. A tiny one, but a pause nonetheless, and then Dean says, “Yes.”

“Very well.” Rufus reaches into his pocket and withdraws a sheet of parchment, unfolding it to reveal a map of Carlisse and the surrounding lands. “Here, to the south. I had a cousin in those parts who died a few years back and left her house to me. It’s a simple cabin with a few outbuildings, but I’ve visited it on occasion and it’s in relatively good repair. It’s far enough away that no one will recognize you, but still within friendly territory.”

Castiel traces the lines on the map, imagining the ride through the forest, the miles they will be putting between themselves and their former lives. He feels no fear at the thought, only breathless anticipation, and when he turns to Dean, he sees the same light in his eyes.

“It’s perfect,” Dean says quietly. “Thank you, Rufus.”

Rufus lets out a snort. “Don’t thank me yet. It won’t be anything like what you’re used to, you know. No attendants, no lavish meals, no libraries of books and wardrobes bursting with fancy clothes. It will be a difficult life to adapt to.”

“It will be worth it,” Castiel says firmly. He takes the map and folds it back up, then tucks it into his sleeve. “When do we leave?”

Dean smiles. “Midsummer’s eve,” he answers. “Everyone will be busy at the ball, and no one will notice our absence in the crowd. Even if they do, they will assume we retired early, and by morning, it will be too late.”

Castiel nods. It is a good plan, and midsummer’s eve is only three weeks away. Any longer, and he does not think he could bear the wait. 

Reaching out, he takes hold of Dean’s hand. Dean squeezes it in his own, still smiling, and Rufus sighs as he watches them. “I wish you all the luck in the world,” he says. “You’re going to need it.”

“Dean.”

His mother is the first to speak, and at the sound of her voice, Dean crumbles.

He takes three steps into the room and is swept up in her embrace. Her hair is greyer, her face more lined, but her smile is the same as ever as she lets out a laugh of disbelief and holds his face between her palms. “Oh, Dean,” she murmurs. “It is so good to see you.”

“You too,” he croaks, tears already forming behind his eyes. He closes them for a moment, overwhelmed, and rests his cheek against her hair. “I missed you so much.”

She does not place the blame for that at his feet, though she would be entirely correct to do so. She just takes a step back, still smiling as she shakes her head. “You’re here now,” she says softly.

Dean shudders, but before he can say anything else, he is caught up in Sam’s welcoming arms. “Dean!” his brother exclaims, eyes suspiciously bright. “The messenger said you were coming, but I could not allow myself to believe it until now.”

Letting out a trembling laugh, Dean smiles up at his brother. “I would not miss this,” he says quietly. He grips Sam’s shoulder tightly and lowers his voice. “I am sorry I missed so many other steps along the path that led you here.”

Sam shakes his head, his hair falling free from the tie that keeps it pulled away from his face. “It doesn’t matter,” he insists. “I was angry with you for a long time, Dean, but it’s done now. The past is past.” He glances back over his shoulder, towards the wooden crib in front of the window and the dark-haired woman seated beside it, smiling at him. “The future is what matters.”

Distantly, Dean hears Sam and Castiel talking, exchanging happy greetings of their own. Swallowing nervously, he approaches Sarah, who he remembers only as the girl Sam danced with at Anna’s nameday ball so many years ago. He makes her a low bow, his muscles remembering the motion despite years away from such courtesies. 

“My lady,” he greets her, as is only proper. She is his queen now.

A hint of mischief sparks behind her eyes. “No need for that,” she says. “Pretty as it might be.” She rises gracefully to her feet, waving aside Dean’s outstretched hand. “It is good to see you again, Dean, though I know I am not the one you have really come to see.”

He tries to protest, but she just winks at him and bends down to the crib, pushing aside lace-trimmed blankets. Dean inhales deeply and peers over the rails, taking his first look at the tiny being whose arrival has sparked this chain of events.

Even in repose, there is something of Sam in the angle of her nose, something of Sarah in the shape of her mouth. Her hair is sparse but dark, and Dean feels an unfamiliar tightness rise in his chest as he watches Elinor sleep, marvelling at the tininess of her tightly-clenched fists.

“She’s so small,” he whispers, unable to tear his eyes away.

“So were you,” his mother says, coming to stand beside him and resting a hand on his arm. “But you grew in time, and so will she.”

“I hope she stays smaller than me.” Sarah grins as Sam slips up behind her and wraps his arms around her waist, leaning back against his chest. “It gives me a terrible ache in my neck, always having to look up at this one.”

Sam laughs and presses a fond kiss to her cheek. Watching them, Dean is filled with contentment, a satisfaction he did not know he was missing washing over him. His family is happy, and he has been given the chance to share in that happiness. He spares a moment to be thankful that he made the decision to come, then frowns as an uncomfortable realization dawns on him.

He has barely looked at Castiel since he entered the room. Grimacing, Dean glances over his shoulder to where Castiel hovers a few feet behind them, hands clasped neatly in front of himself. Barely holding back a curse, Dean beckons him forward with a nod of his head.

An unreadable expression crosses Castiel’s face, but it is quickly replaced by a smile as he steps forward into the space Dean has cleared for him. 

“Hello, little one,” he murmurs as he looks down at Elinor, and Dean’s heart swells with love at the tenderness in his voice. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Castiel, and I am--”

He trails off, shadows gathering behind his eyes as he glances at Mary. Dean reads the sudden stiffening of his posture, the way he presses his lips together, and cuts off whatever Castiel is about to say next.

“Your uncle,” he finishes firmly. “Your father is my brother, and Castiel is my husband, and so that makes us both your uncles.” He risks a glance at his mother and brother and sees only compassion in their eyes. “And we are indeed proud to be so.”

Castiel’s outfit for the midsummer’s eve ball has been planned long in advance, and he is glad to see how lavish it is, considering the less public but far more important event he also plans to attend this evening.

The bright blue cloth is soft under his hands, the darker blue cloak and gold trim slightly stiffer. At his shoulders, there are bunches of blue-dyed feathers held with gold clasps, and his sapphire-studded coronet has been laid out to complete the ensemble. He stares at himself in the mirror for a long time once he has finished dressing, then nods sharply. 

It is time. 

He takes part in the ceremonial opening dance, switching between partners and barely glancing at their faces, his feet moving unconsciously through the familiar patterns. Every time the line moves, he searches for Dean’s face, but there are too many people and he cannot find him in the crowd. After that, there are speeches from Queen Mary and from several priestesses and dignitaries, and Castiel forces a polite look of interest to his face though he hardly hears a word they say.

Once the formalities have concluded and the dancing begins again, he makes his excuses to his mother and moves to step away. “Are you feeling well, Castiel?” she asks, frowning at him. 

“Of course,” he lies. “I thought we might like some refreshment, that’s all.”

Still frowning, Naomi nods. Beside her, Anna watches him with narrowed eyes, but takes his proffered arm and allows herself to be guided towards the long tables at the other side of the ballroom. “What are you up to?” she asks, keeping her voice low.

Castiel gives a subtle shake of his head as he passes her a glass of wine. “Please, Anna. Don’t ask me any questions.”

She opens her mouth again, but all that emerges is a sigh. She is clever, Castiel knows, and she will likely figure it out before any of them. But she will keep his secrets. A rush of affection washes over Castiel and he leans down to press a kiss to her hair. “Thank you,” he whispers.

She bats him away, scowling. “If you have destroyed my coiffure, you will regret it.”

Castiel laughs and makes an apologetic bow, but freezes when he catches Dean’s eye from across the room. Holding his gaze, Dean lays his hand on his shoulder as though adjusting the fall of his cloak and taps it there twice.

At the stroke of two, then. Castiel nods to confirm his understanding of the message, glancing over at the clock. It is shortly after midnight now, and they must give nothing away over the next two hours.

So he dances with visiting guests, makes polite conversation with the scholars from the university, and pays his respects to Queen Mary. He stands with Sam for a time, discussing the latest book he is reading, and wishes he could say a proper farewell. 

With ten minutes to spare, Castiel slips away. He hurries back to his chambers and finds the satchel he stashed underneath the bed, already packed with his most treasured belongings. He hides it under the voluminous folds of his cloak and takes the lesser-used stairwell out of the castle and towards the temple in its shadow.

Dean is already there, the candlelight casting a warm glow over his features. There is a tension in the set of his shoulders that disappears the instant he sees Castiel, and the smile that spreads across his face is breathtaking. “Thank the gods,” he says. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t come.”

“Don’t be silly,” Castiel tells him. Crossing the room, he takes Dean’s hands in his own. “I have been waiting for this moment for a long time.”

“Good,” a new voice says, and Castiel turns to see a priestess emerging from further within the temple, her flame-red hair glowing in the light. “If either of you has any doubts, this is the time to speak them.”

Holding his breath, Castiel looks at Dean. Dean gazes back at him, eyes bright, and shakes his head firmly. “I am ready,” he declares.

“As am I,” Castiel says.

“Good,” the priestess says again. “Then approach the altar, both of you.”

Hand in hand, they do as instructed. The priestess clasps her hands before her and looks down at them, a small smile playing around her lips. “Normally, there would be a great deal more ceremony,” she says. “But none of that is necessary. All that matters is that you are here, and that you are dedicated to each other.”

“We are,” Dean and Castiel say in unison.

“And are you devoted to each other’s care, to each other’s happiness and well-being?”

“We are.”

She pauses before speaking the last question. “And are you solemn in your vows to each other, and in the expectation that they will last all the days of your lives?”

Castiel looks at Dean, then down at their joined hands. “We are,” they say again, and the priestess smiles.

“Then in the sight of the gods and with my own eyes bearing witness, I proclaim you bonded in matrimony, from this day and forevermore.”

Dean lets out a beautiful laugh and raises Castiel’s hand to his lips. “I love you,” he murmurs, and Castiel has to close his eyes to hold back the surge of emotion those words bring to him.

“I love you too,” he eventually manages to reply.

“Do you have some token you might exchange, in honour of your vows?” the priestess asks.

Reaching up, Castiel undoes one of the sprays of feathers at his shoulder. Catching on immediately, Dean does the same with the green cluster at his own shoulder. Smiling into each other’s eyes, they exchange the feathers, pinning them to their cloaks tightly so they will not fall.

“Go,” the priestess tells them. “The walls of this temple compel me to confidentiality, but the longer you delay, the more likely your absence will be noted.”

Dean makes her a low bow, which Castiel quickly copies. “Thank you, my lady,” he whispers. 

She waves aside his words. “Thank your friend Rufus for arranging this all. I did nothing other than my duty.”

“Still.” Dean shakes his head. “We are grateful for your part in this.”

“Go,” she says again, shaking her head. “Or you will not thank me at all.”

Castiel places a gentle hand on Dean’s sleeve and tugs him away. They hurry out of the temple, making for the southern gate, but Dean comes to a halt at the entrance to the garden and pulls Castiel along the path despite his protests.

“This won’t take long,” he insists. “But it’s important.”

Under the sheltering branches of their favourite blossoming tree, Dean stops. He reaches up and gently removes the coronet from Castiel’s head, the one he forgot he was still wearing, then takes off his own and places them both on the ground. Eyes shining, he reaches into his pocket and takes out two plain gold rings.

Castiel’s breath catches in his throat as Dean takes his hand and slides the ring onto his finger. “It might not be the same as a crown,” Dean says softly. “But it is a circle of gold, and a symbol of much more. It is a symbol of my commitment to you, of my love and my devotion, and I hope it will be enough.”

It never fails to amaze Castiel, the capacity for poetry that Dean has at times. He would never have expected it of the brash young man he first met six years ago. He swallows roughly and says, “It is enough. It is more than enough.”

“Good.” Dean passes him the other ring and holds out his hand for Castiel to place it on his finger. Once it is done, he moves to step back, but Castiel catches him by the wrist and pulls him in for a deep kiss that leaves them both gasping for breath.

“I love you,” he says again, resting his forehead against Dean’s. 

Dean presses a soft kiss to his cheek and says, “And I you.” He glances up at the moon and grimaces. “We should leave.”

He shows no hesitation, no doubts over leaving his home behind. Castiel nods and takes one last look at their crowns, glittering in the moonlight, and then follows his husband out of the garden and beyond the gate to where their horses await to carry them to their new life together.

For the duration of that first visit to the nursery, they maintain polite conversation, mostly discussing the baby. Sam and Sarah, like most new parents, are perfectly happy to describe every moment they’ve spent with Elinor so far, and Dean hangs on their every word. Castiel and Mary are engaged in a quiet conversation as Mary gently rocks the crib with one hand, occasionally glancing down to smile at the sleeping infant.

Eventually, though, Dean catches Castiel covering a yawn behind one hand, and he waits for a pause in Sam’s tale of Elinor’s first presentation to the court. “Apologies,” he says. “But I think Castiel and I might be in need of the same activity our niece is currently enjoying.”

Sarah smiles ruefully and waves Dean aside. “Of course. You have had a long journey. If you don’t wish to join us for the meal this evening, something can be sent to your rooms.” She pauses, then, losing her composure for the first time Dean has seen. “We prepared your old chambers for you, but if you would prefer otherwise--”

Dean glances at Castiel, who has finished his conversation with Mary. He gives a small shrug, and Dean sighs inwardly before looking back to Sarah with a polite smile. “My old chambers are fine,” he says.

As they make their farewells, Sam catches Dean by the elbow and pulls him aside. He struggles for a moment, then says, “I’m so happy you’re here, Dean.”

A lump rises in Dean’s throat, and his voice is rough as he replies, “As am I.” He gathers his brother close, patting him roughly on the back. “Thank you for inviting us, Sam. For always including us, even when--”

“You’re family,” Sam says firmly. He looks towards the door, where Castiel waits patiently. “Both of you.”

He has known it, even through these difficult years apart, but hearing Sam say it so definitively, Dean does not know how to respond. He nods stiffly, makes a bow to Sarah and his mother, and shuts the nursery door gently behind himself.

Castiel is quiet as they descend the stairs towards their chambers, but Dean is lost in his own thoughts and ascribes his silence to his fatigue. It isn’t until they’ve entered the room and barred the door behind themselves that he realizes something is wrong, that the lines on Castiel’s face are of tension and not exhaustion.

“Cas?” Dean frowns at him, sinking into the plush armchair before the fireplace, running his fingers over the stain on its arm from where he spilled ink on it years ago. “Is everything alright?”

“How long will we be staying?”

He isn’t even looking at Dean. Instead, he’s wandering around the room, eyes moving over the furniture and decorations, something strange in the set of his mouth.

Dean’s hands tighten on the arms of the chair, bracing for something though he doesn’t know what. “A few days, a week, perhaps?” He attempts a smile, but it’s weak. “Don’t tell me you wish to make that journey again so soon.”

Finally, Castiel turns to face him, and Dean is on his feet in an instant at the terrible expression on his face. “Do you even wish to make that journey at all?” Castiel asks.

Dean takes a step forward, then stops. “Cas?” he says, hesitant. “What are you--”

Castiel sighs, covering his face with his hands. His voice is muffled, but Dean hears every word, heavy in the quiet room. “When everyone was looking at the baby, I was looking at you, Dean. I have not seen you so happy in--” he lowers his hands, and his eyes are bleak-- “in years.”

“Of course I was happy.” Dean moves closer, but Castiel flinches back. Swallowing down his hurt, Dean shakes his head. “Cas, love, I don’t understand.”

“This is where you belong, Dean.” Castiel waves his hand at the room around them, sweeping it upward to indicate the nursery a few floors above. “Here, with your family. Not hiding away in the woods with me.”

“I chose you,” Dean says quickly. Too quickly, judging by the tight shake of Castiel’s head. “We chose each other over all of this, Cas, and I have never regretted it.” A terrible thought crosses his mind, and his eyes widen as he looks at his husband, the one constant in nearly half of his life. “Have...have you?”

A pause, and then-- “No,” Castiel says softly. “I could never regret it. But it has not always been easy, Dean, and unlike me, you have other options. Your family misses you, and would welcome you home with open arms.”

“This isn’t home anymore,” Dean insists. His heart pounds wildly in his chest, and he can hear the crack in his voice as he speaks. “It hasn’t been for a long, long time.”

“Things change.” Castiel crosses his arms over his chest and looks away. “We always said we would never return here, and yet here we are.”

At that, Dean’s confusion turns to irritation, sharp and bright like a blade. “You encouraged me to come,” he says, fighting to keep his voice level. “If you did not want to, you had the chance to say so.”

“And have you resent me for keeping you from this?” Castiel gives a short, humourless laugh. “No.”

“I wouldn’t--” Dean protests, but his words are cut short as Castiel shakes his head and turns away again. 

“I will not come between you and your family again, Dean,” he says. The anger has faded from his voice, replaced with a hopeless resignation that tears at Dean’s heart, makes him want to sweep Castiel into his comforting arms despite their harsh words. “You have a choice to make, and let it be yours and yours alone.”

“Cas--” Dean starts, but Castiel shakes his head. He removes one of the pillows from the bed and carries it across the room to the divan, stripping off his boots and outer tunic as he does. Lying down, he curls himself into a tight ball, back towards Dean.

Helpless words rise in Dean’s throat, but nothing emerges. Methodically, he sheds his layers and climbs into the soft bed, but it brings him no rest.

It is the first night they have slept apart in seven years.

The cabin is exactly as Rufus described it, small but sturdy. After their horses are stabled in the outbuilding, Castiel takes the key Rufus had given them and unlocks the door to their new home. The hinges squeak as it opens, and Dean coughs as he steps inside, a cloud of dust rising as he moves.

“Well,” he says, planting his hands on his hips and looking around with pursed lips, “it’s certainly a far cry from the palace.”

Castiel nods, though he’s inwardly rather charmed by the rustic wood frame, the large hearth and the wide bed tucked into the far corner of the open space. He slips up behind Dean and wraps his arms around his waist, leaning against him. 

“But it’s ours,” he whispers, feeling Dean shiver as his breath tickles the back of his neck. “And ours alone.”

Dean turns in his arms, grinning up at him. “I suppose we ought to take advantage of that, then?” He lowers his voice, looking up at Castiel from under long lashes that gleam gold in the late afternoon sun. “Husband?”

Castiel groans and captures his mouth in a fierce kiss, and the rest of the day is spent exploring each other’s bodies rather than their new surroundings. Neither of them considers it a loss.

The first few days are a flurry of activity, unpacking the few possessions they have brought with them and making frequent trips into the nearby village to secure others. The folk there are friendly and welcoming, and while a few eyebrows are raised at the sound of Dean and Castiel’s obviously foreign accents, they are neither recognized nor subject to any probing questions. 

Dean’s first attempt at cooking a meal for them is an absolute disaster, and the first time Castiel tries to fix the crooked leg of their wooden bedframe, he ends up with several painful splinters. They laugh about both mishaps, and Dean covers Castiel’s hands, both the injured and uninjured, in soft kisses. That night, they don’t even make it to the bed, curling up together in front of the fireplace and passing most of the night becoming better acquainted with the myriad of ways in which they can express their desire and their love for one another. 

The charm begins to wear thin after about a month. Dean’s hands become rough with calluses from the wood carvings he makes to sell at the village market, and sometimes, after a long day, Castiel flinches from his touch, from the way it can sting even when it is meant to soothe. Castiel’s back aches from days spent in the garden, his face and hands turned bronze from the sun, and no matter how many times he washes his hands, he finds traces of dirt beneath his nails. They both bear their suffering quietly, but every time their eyes meet across the table as they share a meal, they see it reflected in each other’s eyes. 

One evening, perhaps six months after their departure from Carlisse, Castiel finishes his work in the garden and walks wearily to the well to draw a bucket of water with which to wash. He is pulling on the rope when he looks down and notices his ring is missing from his finger. The rope slips through his suddenly nerveless hands, but he ignores the splash the bucket makes, already running back to the patch of earth behind the cabin and plunging his hands back into the ground. 

No matter how frantically he searches, he cannot find his ring. The sun is sinking in the sky, and it is becoming more and more difficult to see, but Castiel continues regardless, pulling up his carefully planted herbs and vegetables in his hurry. “No, no, no,” he mutters under his breath as another handful of dirt reveals no hint of gold. “No.”

Dean finds him there as the last light of the sun disappears behind the tree tops. “Still at it?” he asks, a slight edge to his voice that pierces through Castiel’s despair. “I had hoped there might be a hot meal waiting for me, after the day I’ve had.”

His words hit Castiel like a blow to the back, and all his worry turns to icy anger. He rises slowly and turns to face Dean, his dirty hands clenched into tight fists. “If you wanted to be waited upon,” he says, “perhaps you ought to have stayed in the palace.”

Dean draws in a startled breath, eyes flaring wide. “Perhaps I ought to have,” he replies. “Among other things, the gardens are far finer.”

His barb strikes home. Castiel’s garden is his pride and his joy, and to hear Dean dismiss it so easily hurts far more than he would care to admit. Head held high, he brushes past Dean and makes his way back to the well, his efforts to find his ring abandoned. Right now, it would only mock him, their promises to each other so distant, remnants of another life entirely.

They make do with leftover bread and hard cheese for dinner. Occasionally, Castiel catches Dean glancing down at his bare hand, but Dean doesn’t ask, and so Castiel doesn’t offer. Once they’ve finished eating, Castiel lights the lantern and curls into his chair with his book. He can feel Dean’s eyes on him, but again, he says nothing.

A few minutes later, the door slams. Startled, Castiel looks up from his book and realizes the kitchen is tidy, their dishes washed and neatly stacked to dry, and Dean is gone.

Slowly, he puts his book down on the table and lowers his head into his hands, letting out a bitter laugh. They were right. All of them: Rufus, his mother, Queen Mary. All of those who tried to tell them that this would not be easy, that love might not be enough. They have only lasted six months, and now Dean is gone, without even saying goodbye.

A slow tear tracks its way down Castiel’s cheek, and when he raises his hand to wipe it away, the sight of the dirt still embedded in his skin only makes the tears flow faster.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed, but his eyes are dry by the time the door creaks slowly open. Raising his head, he looks up to see Dean hovering in the doorway, a lantern clutched in one hand.

“Dean,” he says, breath catching in his throat. “I thought--”

Shaking his head, Dean crosses the room and drops into a crouch in front of Castiel’s chair, setting the lantern carefully aside. “You thought I left,” he finishes. His eyes are dark with sorrow and something like regret. “No, Cas.”

He extends his arm and uncurls his fingers, revealing a small gold ring in the centre of his palm. “It took me a little while to put the pieces together,” he continues. “I’m sorry, Cas. I’m so sorry. I was demanding and rude and self-centered and--”

Castiel raises a hand to cut him off. “You were,” he agrees. “But I was cruel and harsh and impatient.”

Dean lets out a shaky exhale, his outstretched hand trembling slightly. “At first I thought you took it off on purpose,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “I was so hurt, but I couldn’t blame you for it, either. It hasn’t been exactly the paradise we imagined, has it?”

“No.” Castiel shakes his head. “But I would still not trade it for the world, Dean.”

“Even if--” Dean hesitates for a moment, biting his lip. “Even if it meant seeing your family again?”

Castiel closes his eyes, remembering the answer he had received to the first and only letter he had sent back to Lorivale, informing his mother that he was alive and well and hoping they might communicate with some regularity. Her reply was only three lines long, telling Castiel he had made his choice and that there was nothing more she wished to say to him. 

“Yes,” he says. “Even then.” He shrugs, but holds Dean’s gaze. “How did you find it?” he asks, nodding towards the ring still lying on Dean’s palm.

“With some hard work, a great deal of patience, and a not-insignificant amount of blind faith,” Dean replies. “And if you will have me still, I promise to offer you the same.”

Under other circumstances, Castiel might tease Dean for the pretty words. But they are exactly what he needs to hear in this moment, and so he says nothing, only nods fiercely. With a deep breath, Dean slides the ring back into its proper place on Castiel’s finger.

Castiel pulls him up into a deep kiss, and they stay entwined together, murmuring apologies and other words of comfort and devotion until the lantern flickers and finally goes out.

There’s very little time to talk the next morning. Dean wakes to the sound of a polite knock on the chamber doors, and after that it’s a flurry of attendants bringing them breakfast and fine outfits to wear for the naming ceremony. He and Castiel manage to be polite to one another without really saying anything at all, too many witnesses to continue the conversation from the night before.

Just as they are about to follow their escort down to the audience hall, Dean summons every inch of his courage and places a gentle hand on Castiel’s arm.

“You look beautiful,” he says, voice low.

Castiel swallows visibly and drags his eyes slowly over Dean’s body. “So do you,” he replies, but it does not sound like a compliment.

It sounds like a goodbye.

As members of the royal family, no matter how distant they have been recently, they are given places of honour at the front of the assembled crowd. Dean sits between Castiel and his mother, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek in greeting as he takes his seat. She smiles at him and links her arm through his as the priestess approaches the ceremonial crib where Elinor lies.

Her bright red hair is familiar, even after so many years. The priestess’ face has hardly aged, and Dean swears she winks as she catches sight of him in the crowd. “Today is a day of celebration,” she declares, spreading her arms wide. “For today, we welcome the newest member of the royal family, and we bestow upon her the name that will one day ring from these halls as she takes her rightful place on this very throne.”

Dean winces. If not for his decisions-- if not for Castiel-- that throne would be his. He does not begrudge Sam the crown, nor does he regret his choice, but for the first time in many years, he does allow himself to wonder what his life might have been like had he stayed.

He sneaks a glance at Castiel, who is staring straight ahead with his hands neatly folded in his lap, and wonders if his thoughts are following a similar path. 

Dean cannot deny that standing in the nursery, surrounded by his family, brought him a peace and contentment he had not experienced in years. What he wishes he could make Castiel understand, though, is that it is a different sort of feeling entirely from the one he gets when they are alone in their little cabin. His happiness at being reunited with his family and meeting its newest member is not in competition with the happiness being with Castiel brings him, and though he has no desire to choose between the two, he already knows which would win out should it come to a contest. 

Realizing that his attention has drifted from the ceremony, Dean refocuses on the scene in time to see the priestess reach into the cradle and raise Elinor in her arms, smiling softly down at her. “Be blessed,” she says, laying a hand over Elinor’s tiny head. “In wisdom and in grace, and in those who love you, for they will be many. The world awaits you, Elinor of Carlisse, and may you find great joy in it.”

The hall erupts into cheers, and Dean’s voice is one of the loudest among them.

Once the formalities have concluded, Sarah reclaims her daughter and holds her as she and Sam greet their guests. Dean finds himself caught up in a flurry of conversation, answering eager questions about where he has been the past seven years as politely as he can without really giving away any details. His mother helps, using her years of diplomatic experience to smooth over any potentially awkward inquiries, but for the most part, the questions are well-meant, and Dean does not begrudge the askers their curiosity.

He is in the middle of a conversation with Bobby and Rufus, telling them about the work they’ve done to the cabin over the years, when he realizes he has lost sight of Castiel. Excusing himself, he looks around the hall, then freezes when he catches sight of a familiar dark head at the other end of the room.

Dean is moving without even being conscious of it, stepping carefully around the crowds of people. Once he is close enough to confirm that his first glance was correct, he pauses, hovering awkwardly, and watches as Castiel speaks to his mother.

They should have realized that Naomi might be here. For all the chaos they caused when they ran away together, the diplomatic alliance between their kingdoms was too important to be thrown aside, and Dean’s mother frequently mentioned Naomi in her letters. It only makes sense that she would be present for this important ceremony, but Dean had been so wrapped up in his own feelings about his homecoming that he had not considered the possibility.

It feels wrong to eavesdrop on their conversation, but Dean cannot help himself. “I did not expect to see you here,” Naomi is saying, posture stiff and correct as always, though with more grey in her hair and more lines around her eyes. “You look well, Castiel.”

“Thank you, Mother.” Castiel is clearly uncomfortable, but he leans forward ever so slightly as he speaks. “As do you.”

There is a tense pause, during which Dean considers stepping forward, but then Naomi speaks again.

“I should not have said those things to you.” 

Castiel’s head flies up, and Dean blinks, equally surprised.

“There was no need to be so unyielding, so severe,” Naomi continues, twisting her hands together in an uncharacteristically nervous gesture. “I have regretted it ever since, Castiel, but I did not wish to intrude if you no longer wanted to hear from me. I just wanted you to know that.”

She dips her head, and turns as though to leave. Dean’s heart lurches in his chest as Castiel steps forward and places a hand on her arm, halting her. 

“I would have welcomed any word from you,” he says. “No matter how long had passed, no matter what your last letter had said.” He looks young and uncertain, and Dean’s heart aches for him, but still he does not step forward. “I missed you, Mother. Very much.”

Naomi lets out a slow breath and raises one hand to cup Castiel’s cheek. “Is it too late?” she asks.

And Castiel shakes his head, closing his eyes. “No.”

Dean lets out a breath he had not realized he was holding. Maybe this is what Castiel was feeling, watching him with his family yesterday. This curious combination of elation at the happiness on a beloved face mixed with trepidation about what it would lead to. If Castiel truly thinks Dean would be happier staying here, would he not then think the same for himself? Now that a reconciliation seems possible, so too does Castiel being the one to leave.

As he watches, Castiel folds his mother into a tight embrace, resting his chin atop her head. When they pull apart, Naomi looks softer than Dean has ever seen her, smiling up at him. “Have you been happy?” she asks, still holding tightly to Castiel’s shoulders.

There is a pause, and Dean must let out some noise, because Castiel immediately turns in his direction, eyes widening.

Dean makes a helpless gesture, spreading his hands before himself. His lips are dry with nerves, fearful of what Castiel will say. His husband holds his gaze, those beloved blue eyes steady, and then turns back to Naomi.

“Yes,” he says.

In one stride, Dean is beside him. Naomi inclines her head gracefully in his direction, but Dean is too overwhelmed to obey proper custom. He pulls her tightly to her chest, laughing at her gasp of surprise. 

“Well,” she says when they break apart. “You have certainly grown stronger in your absence, Dean.”

“I have.” He risks a glance in Castiel’s direction, relieved to see him smiling. “It has been hard work, but not without reward.”

“I would very much like to hear more about it,” Naomi says, looking between the two of them.

“Of course, Mother.” Castiel smiles at her, but his gaze flicks back to Dean. “If you will excuse us for a moment, though, I believe Dean and I have something to discuss.”

“Ah.” Naomi nods, understanding dawning behind her eyes. “Yes, I imagine you do. A word of advice? Remember that a path does not only branch once. It is a lesson I have had to learn as well.”

Dean frowns, not entirely certain of her meaning, but Castiel lets out a small laugh and nods. “Thank you,” he says.

He takes Dean by the arm and steers him towards a quiet corner of the room. Dean opens his mouth, but he has too much to say, and he cannot decide where to begin.

Castiel takes matters into his own hands, shaking his head ruefully at Dean. “How long were you standing there?” he asks.

Flushing, Dean looks away. “A few minutes,” he mumbles. “I didn’t want to interrupt--”

“Of course you did.” There’s fondness in Castiel’s voice, enough to make Dean look up and meet his eyes. “You saw me talking to her, and your first instinct was to rush to my defense, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Dean admits. “But not because you are weak, or in need of rescuing, but only because I worried how you might react to seeing her again so unexpectedly.”

“It was a surprise.” Castiel looks across the room to where Naomi is now talking to Sarah, beaming down at Elinor’s tiny form. “Do you know how I found the courage to approach her?”

Dean shakes his head, then sucks in a startled breath as Castiel reaches out and lays a hand on his arm. “I thought of how brave you were, coming here after all this time, and it gave me the strength I needed to confront her.”

“Cas--” Dean starts, but Castiel shakes his head, cutting him off.

“I’m sorry for how I acted last night,” he says softly. “I was afraid, and I allowed my fear to get the better of me.”

Dean’s shoulders drop, all the tension he had been holding since the night before leaving his body in a rush. “I think I understand now,” he says. “Watching you with her, I felt that same fear.”

Castiel’s hand tightens on his arm, the warmth of it tangible even through the heavy silk of Dean’s tunic. “Fear can be an important motivator, at times. Or it can hold us back. What will we do with it today, Dean?”

Looking down at Castiel’s hand, the gold ring he placed there so many years ago, Dean knows. Knows it with a certainty that is bone-deep, as eternal as the tides. He reaches down and takes hold of Castiel’s hand, clutching it tightly. “We will face it together,” he says.

An enormous smile breaks over Castiel’s face, and he leans up to meet Dean in a kiss that leaves them both breathless.

“What did your mother mean, about a path branching more than once?” Dean asks after, still holding Castiel’s hand.

Castiel laughs, resting his head in the crook of Dean’s shoulder. “Simply that a decision, once made, can still be altered. We chose to walk away from this life, and our path split there. But it can split again, and again, in a series of never-ending choices. We do not have to remain on the same path we chose when we were young.”

The pieces finally fall into place, and Dean smiles down at him. “So we might continue to live in our little cabin, with only the horses for company, but we might also come to visit here and watch as Elinor grows up?”

“Or we might return to Lorivale and see how Anna is faring as the heir.” Castiel nods. “Precisely.”

Dean sighs and rests his chin against Castiel’s dark hair. “It all seemed so much more dire, when we were younger. So extreme.”

“I know.” Castiel draws back to smile up at him. “You will never hear me say that I regret the years we have had together, Dean, but I cannot deny that we were foolish in so many ways back then.”

“But not in this,” Dean says softly, reaching out to cup Castiel’s cheek. Even in the midst of the crowded hall, they have found some quiet. Balance is possible, and they are old enough and wise enough to know that now. 

“No,” Castiel agrees, leaning into the touch. “In this, we have always been right to trust.”

Dean slides his hand down and entwines it with Castiel’s, feeling the warmth of the golden ring on his finger against his palm. Seven years ago, they exchanged one set of golden circles for these smaller, humbler, but ultimately more valuable pieces, and assumed that they could never recover what they had put aside along with their crowns. 

But here they are now, in the castle Dean once called home, with family members both new and old laughing together at the other end of the hall. They have been tested, these past days, and they have emerged stronger for it. They may never wear their crowns again, but there is much that they can reclaim from the days they spent in this place, the place where their story began.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please remember to pay hitori-alouette some well-deserved compliments [here.](https://hitori-alouette.tumblr.com/post/185820414063/art-for-circles-of-gold-by-superhoney-summary)


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